


Symposium, For Two

by word_docs_and_willowboughs



Category: Lymond Chronicles - Dorothy Dunnett
Genre: Flirting, Gen, Lymond is a tease, The Game of Kings, This goes nowhere, Will Scott is a gay idiot, alas, alcohol mention, but not a mean one for once
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:21:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22028479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/word_docs_and_willowboughs/pseuds/word_docs_and_willowboughs
Summary: At the Ostrich Inn, Will gets a lesson in etiquette from a rather drunk Lymond, and takes a step towards discovering something new about himself, with many missed opportunities for understanding along the way. (Missing scene from Game of Kings)
Relationships: Francis Crawford of Lymond and Sevigny & Will Scott
Comments: 1
Kudos: 7





	Symposium, For Two

The Ostrich Inn, though a place of strange pleasures tending toward the wild, was alive with still more unlikely festivities by the time Francis Crawford of Lymond’s party had spent have a night in it, and showed no sign of stopping. The author of the triumphant arrival, the glorious scheme of dances and wrestling throws had kept an observer all the while, except for a few turns in the arms of a dark-haired girl. Will Scott’s attitude watching him from a table was one of sheer amazement rather than anything approaching understanding, though, thanks to the late hour and mulled wine. So too, it was rather careless, as Will was more preoccupied with the way that Lymond moved, that had cast his doublet aside for the wrestling, and brushed his hair back, smiling, than much else. For that, Will failed to realize he’d been spotted, until the Master made his way over, far more energetic than was reasonable for the time of night. 

Lymond was quite drunk when he took a seat beside Will and picked up a conversation, but regardless of how much either of them might have consumed, Will was drunker. It was not unpleasant, though he had a vague suspicion it would be the next morning, but it was confusing. Or rather, Lymond was confusing, because instead of slowing the breakneck pace of his mind, drink only seemed to encourage poetry, or at least a stranger use of words. Will, who could hardly keep up when sober, found himself at a hopeless loss, and in more unfortunate circumstances still. Lymond looked different in revelry, and though there were always sharp edges to him, they’d softened a fraction, and Will could not refrain from staring at him. At present, he was glowing with perpetual excitement, lately over his victory, and it left clear blue eyes shining. His features caught light and shadow in strong relief which made them nobler, and that smile...Will was entirely lost in it, so much so that it was almost an annoyance when Lymond frowned and said,  
“Are you listening?”  
“Not a bit,” said Will, perfectly tactless, but in these spirits, it made Lymond laugh.  
“You are a strange creature, young Master Scott, though evidently an observant one. Do tell, are you enjoying your view of the wall?” A kindness surely extended to obfuscate Will’s distraction, but one he managed to take.

A dumb shake of his head was Will’s sole answer, but he was saved in an instant as Molly floated over to them, her eyes shining as much as her jewels, and her bearing an odd mix of queenly and girlish. The cause, of course, was the Master, who flashed a smile at her approach, and, when asked if he needed anything, answered lightly,   
“Aside from your company? Nothing at present. You never fail to satisfy, my dear, but as ever, lovely as can be. I’ve always said you have a fair aspect and a monarch’s mien.”   
“You sweet thing,” came the cheerful reply as Molly tousled his hair and got a good-natured laugh in reply, “I hardly know what to do with you.”  
“I doubt that; you’ve far greater virtues than pious naiveté, which become you better in any case. Do indulge me for a time to be merry among friends while we dwell in your queendom here, if you will.” Molly’s smile at his words was positively adoring, more so when he took her hand and kissed it, but she seemed quite satisfied to do as he asked,   
“I’ll see you later, dearest,” her parting words. Will had an inclination towards staring at the grain of the wooden table, precisely why he wasn’t sure, but refrained as Lymond’s attentions shifted easily back to him, his affect more self-satisfied than before.

Will recognized the attitude Lymond had possessed earlier regarding the innkeeper, distant but amused, and almost smiled at the fact that he’d understood it. At least, that was the motivation he chose for being glad as silence stretched out. He was, he thought, expected to speak next, but struggled in the aftermath of the interruption, until he suddenly discovered a way to voice his thoughts.  
“How do you do that?” Will asked, on the impulse to confirm Lymond’s act, and break the quiet. “Make people like you?” A flicker of a frown crossed Lymond’s face but vanished quickly under impassivity, hardly a momentary lapse in levity.  
“Opinions may be formed based on details emphasized, omitted or fabricated, Marigold, but they are not forced.”  
“Very well, then, how do you... fabricate? Do what you did with her, just now.”  
“You seem affronted that I pay her compliment. Given our surroundings, and the aid our Pandora provides us, I must ask why.”  
“It’s...I don’t know.” Will trailed off, largely due to uncertainty, with a hint of something he would rather not explore, a brief and childish desire for Lymond’s attention. Maybe not so childish. But he was frowning, and clearly it hadn’t passed unnoticed.  
“I do not show such melancholy in public, for one thing. You’ve much to learn on the score of gentility.” 

Will’s frown turned from frustration to confused annoyance.  
“What do you mean?”  
“Allow me to demonstrate?” Will blinked.  
“You want to... pay me a compliment?” After the episode with Molly, Will could scarcely fathom what that might mean, especially given his recent exploits. There was nothing to compliment him on, and Hume Castle provided nearly endless fodder for digs and admonishments, if not outright humiliation. Then again, by all outward indications Lymond was not inclined to such things just now.  
“Quite,” he replied “Do you have a preferred context?” At the best of times, an unanswerable question; in a haze of alcohol, quite impossible. “No? I’ll follow Molly’s fashion then.” 

At that most confounding of statements, Will echoed his own thoughts aloud to sort them out, with no success.  
“What does that mean?”  
“In short, flattery with forethought.” There was scarcely time to understand the words, ‘Molly’s fashion,’ before the Master delivered and Will was once again preoccupied. Lymond considered him with a critical glance. “Were I to describe you, pretty youth, I should say that you have bright eyes—intelligent—, and hair that turns golden in firelight...” The pause left between words allowed Will the space of a breath, in which he was simply, entirely caught off guard. The young man, though called many things, had never known pretty to be among them, yet it was not sneered. A curious tilt of Lymond’s head, and Will found that their faces were closer together, and his own growing warmer, discovering immediately after that he didn’t mind in the slightest. “You’ve a fair figure, well-bred speech...” In fact, he wished they were closer, and again he looked carefully at Lymond, as if to memorize his features, or respond in kind. The moment that the two considered each other was extended in Will’s perception of it, though, because it could not have been any longer than that before Lymond concluded, without the barest shift in tone, “and the countenance of a mule.”

For the first time that evening, Will found the fine features quite impossible to look at, as the illusion, for it must have been one, shattered. Evidently there was always space for humiliation, however slight or private. Lymond had impeccable timing, because while Will spluttered slightly, he seized on the Master’s jab near-instantly as excuse for the inexplicable flush in his cheeks.  
“Are you in the habit of ending with insults?” As usual, Lymond was more than ready.  
“Insult? It’s hardly a critique, Marigold. Determination is admirable, though you toe the line with obstinance. After all, Achilles did not require Odyssean wit, only good company.” 

Will wondered distractedly why Lymond must bring up books when he was so clearly drunk. It seemed profoundly unfair to him.  
“What has he got to do with it?” he asked, which only made Lymond laugh again.  
“Alas, you continue to prove my point. You are correct, however, that such a particular flourish is not common.”  
“So I’m meant to take it well that you’ve quite literally made an ass of me?”  
“Your words, not mine. As is your angry coloring.” With a raised eyebrow, Lymond’s hand just brushed Will’s cheek, which only deepened the blush. “Unless I misinterpret as much as you do.” Will found himself scrambling.  
“Why shouldn’t I be annoyed?”  
“Ever on the defensive.”  
“Maybe if you didn’t insist on catching people off their guard...” The ghost of a smile never left Lymond’s face, though Will wasn’t at a point of discerning mirth or something genuine in it.  
“I wonder,” he mused, “what part of this confusion I have caused, and what stems from the thing which you’ve so obviously tied yourself up in knots puzzling out.”

There was, in truth, less ignorance than there had been at one point, by virtue of Will’s now considering, and comparing feelings. For example speaking to Lymond on these terms was not dissimilar to dancing with Joan. That was a thought that was not to be touched, and under no circumstances betrayed to his superior for the sheer mockery that would surely follow.  
“If I have, what does it matter? Why do you need to...unravel it?” Except, of course, that there was every chance that Lymond already had, and come to some higher understanding of it, of him, too.  
“I suppose if I have instructed you somewhat in the avoidance of — What do you call it?— mediocrity, there is some small responsibility here as well.” Without entirely meaning to, Will had leaned a little closer, again.  
“You fancy yourself a teacher?” Lymond laughed sharply at that, apparently surprised, and Will withdrew a little.  
“If I was, why should I stand firm in refusing you answers about yourself? Regardless, I, like Socrates, prefer to lead a life of examples rather than instruction. Although, despite your lack of comment on the heroes of Troy, I wonder if you do not also have certain...philosophies in common with him, though you are no Phaedrus in expressing it.”

There was a pause before Will, struggling for words and wholeheartedly refusing to allot any time to dredging up memories of his schooling, let loose an insult of his own.  
“You are...maddening.” Lymond put a hand on his shoulder, and for the serious expression, Will momentarily expected a rebuke. What he said instead was,  
“That makes two of us.” In an instant the tension released, and Will Scott found himself laughing. Be it favor or some elaborate joke which motivated Lymond’s levity, he’d sooner let it continue than end it. “And you see that sharp words may be spoken with light hearts, and reactions taken in good faith, should the will outweigh the Scott.”

It seemed to the young man that an opportunity was being presented, that the rest of this was leading up to it, but he knew neither precisely what it was, nor its extent, nor how to take it.  
“Perhaps when we’re both sober a more careful reflection might lead you to more interesting conclusions. But if understanding must be muddied by insult, I’ll not take it personally.”

Will swallowed, considering his next words carefully as he teetered between terror and excitement. He settled at last on something quite impersonal, safe, as he thought again of the fate that had befallen the owner of the Ostrich as much as Will himself at Lymond’s careful hands.  
“Molly said you were made to wreck us all.”  
“True enough, though not, I believe, in the manner you’re thinking.”  
“She meant you’re handsome.”  
“And you agree.” Another opportunity, or trap, and Will managed nothing but to answer,  
“I think so.”  
“‘Think so’. High praise, Marigold. I can see you’ve learned little. Or perhaps much.” Lymond rose, and gave a coy smile. “After all, you are full of mysteries.” With that, he took his leave, and Will Scott downed the rest of his drink in one.

**Author's Note:**

> Pandora was made from precious materials, jewels among them.
> 
> In the Symposium of Plato, Phaedrus, commenting on ideal love, holds up Achilles and Patroclus as an example of a romantic relationship between men. 
> 
> Meanwhile, Socrates is in a relationship, though admittedly a bad one, with a man; separately, he tends to exemplify his own philosophy rather than instruct directly or expound upon it.


End file.
